There was no grin on his face. He was only a mangy cur, now. Big, but still a mangy cur.
“Ten,” I said. “Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five-”
He spoke. A language I couldn’t understand. Something guttural, with more sense in the silences than in the utterances.
It was, I suspected, a language so basic that most could understand it.
I submit.
The tree, no longer bent by the weight pulling down on it, rose to its full height, casting the remaining snow into the sky.
And somehow, with just the movement of that one tree, it seemed like the sun was able to reach the area around me, making everything brighter.
A sword hung from a point partway up the tree, the chain looped around blade and handle. It swung from the movement of the tree, blade ringing each time it banged against trunk and branch.
My entire body protested as I climbed the tree, but I made it up to where I’d tied the chain, collected June, and unbound the chain.
I was careful to bind the sword in chain before I headed for the ground.
The thing was ornate, but in a very odd, unpleasant way. An ugly face of the Hyena’s head in profile, a ragged claw at the pommel, and the blade itself was uneven, with terrible weight. I didn’t miss the fact that the grip had spikes sticking out from it, so anyone who held it would gouge their palms and fingers.
A pretty fucking reluctant binding.
I looked to connections, and found the way I needed to go to reach civilization. Trudging through the snow, shotgun slung over one shoulder, chain-wrapped sword in hand, resting on one shoulder. Uncomfortable and heavy.
But I wasn’t in a rush.
The forest was peaceful, bright.
Here and there, I saw ghosts flickering out of existence. Their wounds widening, tearing them into pieces, leaving fragments to drift out of existence.
The remaining Others were already gone. Finally healing, maybe. Or something.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, if it was something.
I was nearly to the wood’s edge when I saw him.
“Evan,” I said.
He wasn’t fading. Wasn’t disappearing.
He was the Hyena’s, but not in the same way the others were.
“The wolf is defeated,” I said. “He shouldn’t bother you anymore.”
“The wolf leaves,” he said. He flickered. He had that tone that ghosts did when they were repeating scenes from the past. Part of a riddle I hadn’t answered, though I had a pretty good idea now.
“The wolf leaves,” I said. “Yeah. I’m taking him away now.”
“The wolf leaves,” Evan said. “But the wolf will come back. I have to keep running, until help comes.”
He looked over one shoulder, a flicker of fear on his face, and then bolted. Running, faster than I could follow.
“Yeah,” I said. I rattled the sword. “Fuck you, goblin.”
There was no response
I approached the roadside.
“Nick of the Knights,” I said. “Because Fell will kill me if I call him like this. Nick of the Knights. Nick of the Knights. Shotgun guy.”
I felt the connection appear.
“Great,” I said.
I sat back and waited.
■
“You look a little worse for wear,” Fell said.
I didn’t comment. I only waited. I ached, I was scabbed over in a dozen places. People stared when I passed them. At least I’d had a good container for the sword. A cylindrical case for holding posters and artwork.
It was fucking heavy, which didn’t help the weight of it.
Conquest’s manse loomed before me. Not too bad a walk from the subway stop.
“You’re quiet, too,” Fell said. “Don’t tell me you traded away something like your voice.”
“Was a pretty unilateral deal,” I replied. “I think I scared him into submission.”
“All with hours to spare,” Fell smirked. “I thought you’d have another last-minute finish.”
“I hurried this one, because I need time to plan and prepare for the next. It’s the ugliest one, far as I can figure.”
“Probably. Come on, then. Let’s get this over with so you can keep preparing.”
I followed him inside.
There was no illusion of a ground floor when we entered. Only a vast open space, and a tower. Lopsided, elaborate, so impossible to ignore that it commanded attention, reminding me of the Other with the eye. There were decorative features that would have been impossible on another structure. Gravity would have torn it to pieces. Spires jutting off like blades in scabbards at a man’s hip, points facing skyward. A pale white halo surrounded the top floor, reminiscent of a crown.
I did not appreciate the long walk up to the top. Floor after floor, with screams of the tortured muffled by closed doors, dark, facing scene after scene where Conquest paid homage to himself.
I reached the top, where Conquest waited. But I supposed he didn’t sleep. He just was.
He was still in his halfway-form, half man, half monster, flesh stretched, beard, the eyes more whites than anything, wearing clothes that were part skin, part coat, part robe. He held no animal, but I saw that the rooftop was bordered by a moat, where large silver fish swam in perpetual rings. The only light was a pale reflection from Conquest himself, and from the halo-crown that surrounded the tower.
There were five points of interest around the tower top, besides Conquest himself. Rose was one. Asleep, her back to the wall, with a short chain trailing from her to Conquest’s hand.
I looked, and I saw the connection between us.
Suspicions confirmed. Something was wrong with the flow of it. Too much coming my way. It was twisted, never straight.
There were also three altars, behind and to either side of Conquest. The book sat on one. The other two were empty.
“You have one more day,” Conquest said. “Then we get to business.”
“I understand,” I said.
I drew the sword from the container, then laid it on one altar, chain and all.
“I assume I can’t take Rose with me?” I asked.
“No,” Conquest said.
“With your permission, I would like to leave now,” I said.
“Leave? To prepare for your next task?”
“No,” I said. “Yes. Both.”
“Both,” he said, with a tone that suggested he was pointing out the inconsistency. The almost-lie.
But all three answers were true.
“There’s something I need to do,” I said. “With your permission?”
“Granted,” he said. “You’ve done well, servant, being so prompt, bearing scars from service to me.”