The kenku shook his head. “I don’t think so. Or if he did, I think their nature was disguised. Appearances deceive, functions change.” He looked at Cephas, taking in his silver skin and the short strings of crystal that served as hair where he was smooth-pated before.
“But it makes no difference,” he added. “The WeavePasha is no longer our ally and seeks to prevent us from mounting a rescue. Cephas, I have placed your life in danger, and I will offer explanations and apologies soon. For now, we have only enough time to attempt escape, and you must accept that as amends.”
Cephas did not know what to make of this swift change of circumstances, but something inside him welcomed it. He looked to Ariella, who gave him a curt nod.
“I can get out of the city on my own,” Corvus said. “Old man, can you and Trill win past whatever the WeavePasha sends against you?”
Mattias did not hesitate. “Yes. Shan can ride behind me. And Trill can carry Cephas and Ariella, at least for a time. That is, if the lady is accompanying us.”
“Even if I did not have other reasons,” Ariella said, “it is my duty to track down Lavacre and Flamburnt. If they acted at the direction of a Calimien djinni, as you say, then they acted for the enemies of my queen and stewards. The swordmages of Akanul are trained to deal with traitors.”
A long blast sounded from a brass horn atop one of the minarets of the palace. A hum rose in the air, and the tiny crystals in Cephas’s hair caught a vibration that churned his stomach.
“The WeavePasha comes!” said Corvus. “Mattias! The petrified delta of the Quag!” Shadows boiled around the kenku.
“He will know we flee in that direction!” shouted Mattias.
Corvus said, “But he dare not follow there,” and disappeared.
Mattias cursed and signaled Trill to lower her head. “But of course we dare go there. Shan! Where are you?”
The halfling came running from Ariella’s tent, a bundle strapped to her back.
Cephas kept a wary eye on Trill’s launch and approach after Shan leaped up behind Mattias, aiming to have some influence over where her claws closed around him this time. “I guess Shan thinks you’ll want your armor!” he called to Ariella as they were caught up again.
“I’m beginning to wonder if I should ever take it off around you!” she shouted, and then, despite the circumstances, when she saw his crestfallen expression, she laughed.
Many hours later, bells rang three times in the WeavePasha’s darkened inner chamber, indicating that his high vizar sought permission to enter.
He waved a hand and the woman, eldest of his grandchildren, materialized before him. She looked exhausted, and her boots and cloak were coated with dust. Before she spoke, he pointed at the decanter and crystal goblets on a nearby rosewood table. The vizar’s thanks were in her sigh, and she trudged across the room to pour a glass.
After she drained the wine in a single draft, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “Mattias Farseer,” she said, “is a devil. And Corvus Nightfeather does not exist. At least, my mages can find no trace of him on this or any other plane of existence.”
The WeavePasha chuckled. “Mattias is a human man. One of tremendous talents and extraordinary dedication, perhaps, but I have begun to wonder if it isn’t unshakable fidelity that defines humanity. Or at least its heroes.”
The woman across from him had heard the WeavePasha say such things every day of her life, and she was approaching her one hundredth winter. “Your dedication to the city is unshakable, Grandfather,” she said. “His dedication is to a wild animal and a handful of criminals. It is you who are the hero.”
The WeavePasha heard the note of fanaticism in her voice and sighed, knowing he’d planted it there. He trusted she would grow out of it. They always did-all but him.
“Did he kill anyone?” he asked, and stood, deciding that he, too, wanted a drink.
“The ranger? No.” She hesitated. “Though in truth, he could have.” A different note came into her voice, and the WeavePasha refilled her glass before pouring a half measure of ruby wine into his own. “In truth, Grandfather,” she said, “he could have killed me. The charms you sent with us dampened the enchantments of the bow, at least temporarily, but even after it was nothing but a length of heartwood casting mundane arrows … The reach of the thing. The speed he shot with. And he was prepared for the disenchantment. When the aetheric string failed, he pulled a length of gut from his beard-his beard! — and was shooting again instantly. That is a mighty bow you made, Grandfather.”
The WeavePasha inclined his head. “And yet,” he said, “when my magics were drained from it and its wielder faced the mightiest of my descendants, he still escaped.”
His granddaughter took a seat on a footstool, her shoulders slumping. “Yes. He and the halfling that rode behind him on the wyvern’s back. The genasi she carried dropped away in the scrubland along the coast, perhaps half a day’s ride west by horseback. I have sent out a company of the city guard, but …”
“But they will find nothing,” he said, gently finishing her sentence. “Because the windsouled will enter the Plain of Stone Spiders long before our horsemen arrive, and our commanders know they are forbidden to enter those lands.”
“Not that they would, anyway,” said his granddaughter. “Not that anyone sane would.”
“So you believe there will be deaths after all, eh?” he asked.
The woman shifted uncomfortably. “If they are fools enough to cross the old course of the River Quag, yes. But, my lord …”
“Ah,” he said. “We come to Corvus.”
“There were no deaths among those of us who flew in pursuit of the wyvern.” She saw his darkening features and rushed on. “And none of those who sought the kenku were harmed, either. But the summoners among them believed their spectral hounds had his scent near the docks and called up a chain of runespiral demons.”
“Within the city walls?” he demanded, anger in his voice. “The kin I set to guard against such things unleash them in my city?”
“In a district of empty warehouses, WeavePasha, in the Street of Stolen Stones. They judged the risk acceptable, and they never lost their grip on the leashes. The demons all converged on the same ruin, and … they all died, Grandfather. Six of them.”
The WeavePasha considered another glass of wine but decided against it. “A creditable effort,” he said dryly, “for a man you believe not to exist.”
She spread her hands. “I offer no apologies with these explanations, Grandfather. My daughter stands ready to relieve me as your high vizar.”
“Your daughter?” he asked. “You think I don’t feel old enough already?” He waved her closer and embraced her. “You performed well under circumstances I would have found challenging myself. The kenku threw the dice well-knowing what faces they would show when their tumbling stopped. He threw them on a table he believes I will not play at.”
“You believe them all to be gathering on the plain,” said the vizar. “You would go out and face them there yourself? I know you will send no others to that place.”
The WeavePasha sighed. “No, Granddaughter. I will not leave the city, as the kenku anticipated. Probably not ever again, unless the fleet your uncles build finds its ways to the waters we have dreamed of. No, Corvus Nightfeather has escaped, and he has taken a tool with him we might have used to keep the djinn occupied and away from our walls for quite some time. It might even have destroyed a few of the haughty bastards.”
The woman thought about this. “Grandfather,” she asked, “is this a tool that can be used against us? If your assassin takes the el Arhapan heir to Calimport, will he not one day be the leader of our enemies? From what you told me of the boy, he is far more formidable than his father.”