“War?”
“You swore only days ago that you would destroy the mortal city before us. Do you remember? It was when you took those two women from Southmarch captive. You were most impressive, my lady, most frightsome. ‘It will be a joy to hear the screams of your people,’ you told them. But I cannot help but notice that here you sit, and the screams have still not begun. Could it be you have thought twice about this unreasoning hatred of yours?”
“Unreasoning?” She turned toward him, nettled. The fact of her annoyance was itself annoying—he lived only to goad her and she hated to satisfy him. But what he said now seemed odd, almost malicious. “It is only the persistence of reason that keeps them alive. Only a fool does not hesitate to do that which cannot be undone—and the plans I have for the mortals are of that sort. When the god is dead, the mortals will also die.” She looked at him, allowed herself to blink once and once only, a signal of faint surprise. “Do you truly want me to attack them today, Kayyin? Do you want to hurry their end? I thought you had grown close to them.”
“I want you to know your own mind, Lady. Much, I feel, will hinge on that.”
“What nonsense are you talking?”
“Nonsense that was breathed in my ear before I knew myself again.” Kayyin paused for a moment as if searching for words. “It matters not. But although you may not believe it, I fear for our people, O my Mother. I fear your decisions. I suppose that is why I ask you. Like a misbehaving child who waits for a parent to come home, I fear the punishment less than I fear the waiting.”
“That is because you are a child, Kayyin, compared to me. When I decide to strike it will be swift and harsh and final. I will bring a power against this place that will kill everything that lives, even the birds in the trees and the moles in the ground.”
For the first time he looked surprised, his face suddenly full of something like fear. “What? What would you do to them?”
“That is not for you to know, little turncoat. But because that destruction will be so complete, I will not begin until I am certain.”
“So you admit you have doubts?”
“Doubts? Hah.” She took Whitefire from where it lay in her lap and stood, stretching her long legs, then set the sword on her council table. The great hall that had once been the town’s seat of goverment was empty even of ghosts. Her guards waited outside. Like Kayyin, they would be fitful and impatient at this long pause after their war had seemed all but won. Unlike him, they were soldiers, and would have the discipline to keep it to themselves. “Shall I tell you a story?”
“A true one?”
“You annoy me less than you think, but still more than is polite. Your father would have been ashamed—he was a creature of intense grace.”
“Is that the story you would tell me? Of my father?”
“I would tell you of the Battle of Shivering Plain. Your father was unborn, but one of your ancesters, your great-great-great-grandfather Ayyam, was there. It was one of the last battles between the clans of Breeze and Moisture and their mortal allies. We fought for Whitef ire against the treachery of his three half-brothers, the ones these idiot mortals worship.
“I was one of King Numannyn’s three generals—Numannyn the Cautious as he came to be called. We had fought long in support of the great god Whitefire, battling for days against both demigods and armies of mortals, and our forces were tired. Night was almost upon us and the troops wanted nothing but to make camp before dark came. Whitefire’s brother Moonlord had been killed and the moon had turned red and almost faded from the sky—the gods could fight without light, but it was harder for us. Numannyn, though, had a seer with him, and she told the king that under the cover of darkness a single man was escaping the field with a guard of several hundred mortal soldiers.
“ ‘It must be someone important,’ Numannyn said. ‘One of the kings of the mortals, fleeing the battle, or perhaps a messenger from the mortals to the gods of Xandos. We must capture him.’
“ ‘Your soldiers are weary,’ one of the other generals told him. I did not dare speak then against the king’s wishes, but I was also troubled. My warriors had been asked to give much already, and the next day threatened to be the bloodiest yet. Even the fiercest of our folk must rest sometimes.
“ ‘Something about this speaks to me of ill omens,’ the third general said. ‘Can we not send a flight of Elementals to observe this refugee more closely? I smell a trap.’
“ ‘If none of my generals will undertake this for me,’ said Numannyn in anger, ‘then I will take a company and go myself.’
“We were all shamed. As I was the youngest and the only one who had not voiced an objection, I felt bound to this service. I took my companions, the Makers of Tears, and we climbed onto our mounts and set out.
“We encountered the enemy crossing over the river Silvertrail at the base of the hills that ringed the great, icy meadow. As the seer had said, perhaps a hundred mortal soldiers were riding hard. They were strong and well-armed, but they seemed to have no other purpose except to protect a single litter carried by half-naked slaves. When we called to them to surrender they turned and fought, of course—we had expected no less. If the person in their custody was rich enough or important enough for such a large bodyguard we knew they would not give him up lightly. But for all their warlike strength and training they were only mortal soldiers and they had little more than us in sheer numbers. For us, it was like fighting strong but clumsy children.
“When we had beaten down the soldiers the slaves dropped the litter and fled. The mortal man who staggered out of it was small and dark-haired. I did not know his face, although something about him seemed familiar.
“ ‘Do not harm me,’ he said in a frightened voice. ‘Let me go and I will make you all rich.’
“ ‘What could you give us?’ shouted my men, laughing. ‘Gold? Cattle? We are the People—the true People. There is nothing you can give us that we did not give to you stone apes in the first place!’
“ ‘Our king wants you, and so you will come!’ others jeered. ‘There is nothing else to say.’ And they threw the prisoner roughly onto the back of a horse, his hands bound behind him.
“When we brought him before the king the prisoner spoke again, and although he still spoke pleadingly, there was something strange in his voice. ‘Please, O Numannyn King, Master of the Qar, Lord of Winds and Thought, let me go and I will give you gifts. I do not wish trouble for myself or for you.’
“The king smiled coldly—it frightened me to see it, although I did not know why, but I had the sense that one has when a great stone begins to shift and tilt downslope. Something was happening, though I did not know what, and in a moment it would be too late to stop it.
“ ‘You can offer me nothing except what you know,’ Numannyn said. ‘And that you will give to me whether you want to or not. You belong to me now. Who are you and where were you bound?’
“The mortal looked down for a long moment as if ashamed or terrified, but when he looked up neither of these things were on his face. His eyes were bright and his smile was as cold and hard as Numannyn’s.
“ ‘Very well, little king. I hoped only to leave this place and this incessant fighting, for which I am nowise fit, and return to my home atop Xandos. But you would stop me and interrogate me. You would make me a prisoner. Very well.’ He lifted his hands. The guards nearest him drew their blades but the stranger made no other move. ‘You wish to know my name? My servants call me Zosim, but you know me better as the first and greatest Trickster.’
“And it was indeed the god himself, wearing the form of a mortal man—even as he spoke he began to take on the true semblance of his godhood. He grew bigger and bigger. His eyes flashed and lightning played about his head. I was young and not as strong as I am now—I could not even bear to look straight at him as he revealed himself, so terrible was his aspect. And he was one of the least warlike gods! We had caught him trying to sneak away from the battle! But now he would fight. Now he would punish.