“Yes. Because they know that their fate is to be evening repast for a monster.” Ghan shot the younger man a pointed look.
Moss sighed. “I have protected you thus far, Grandfather.”
“I'm no one's grandfather,” Ghan snapped.
Moss crinkled his brow in frustration. “It is considered mannerly to address an elder so.”
“Is it also considered mannerly to march me across these foreign lands against my will? To force me to aid you in a cause I want nothing to do with? Why put fair paint over rotten wood by addressing me courteously?”
Moss finished his meat and followed it with a sip of wine. “As you wish, old man. In any case, what I was saying is that I have protected you thus far and I will continue to.”
Ghan snorted. “You are a fool, then. Don't you know what he is! You cannot protect me from him.”
“But I shall, you have my word.”
“How relieved I am,” Ghan sneered.
Moss grinned. “You really should eat something. I don't want Hezhi to think I starved you when we find her.” He paused and then lifted his wine cup again. “She loves you, you know. I think if I could have really convinced her that I would reunite the two of you, she would have joined me.”
“What do you care about this?” Ghan exploded suddenly. “I have held my peace, hearing you talk about her, but what is it that you want? Ghe is a mindless sort of thing, and I know what the River wants of her, but you …”
“I want only peace,” Moss replied mildly. “I want my relatives to stop dying. And I want my people to have the blessing of the River as yours do.”
“It is no blessing,” Ghan snarled. “It is a curse. It is a curse for those who bear his blood and it is a curse for those his children rule. This is a misguided desire you have.”
“So it may seem to you,” Moss answered shortly. “But I know better.”
“Of course—” Ghan began, but Moss' eyes suddenly blazed, and he jabbed his finger at Ghan.
“I know better,” he repeated.
Ghan slowly closed his mouth on his unfinished retort. There would plainly be no fruit from a conversation that branched from that tree. He slowly gazed around the meager furnishings of the tent, gathering energy for another try.
“Will you kill her?” he asked dully. “Will she die?”
“Old man, she will die only if the Blackgod has his way. If I win this race and this battle, she will live to be the queen she was destined to be. She will unite all of the people of the River in a single kingdom. That I have seen.”
“With you at her side?” Ghan asked, carefully this time.
Moss shrugged. “It matters not where I am then. My work will be done. When she is queen, the sort of power I command will mean nothing. The little gods will be swept away and the world will be clean of them. The mountains and plains will be home to men and only men. And there will be peace, without the likes of the Blackgod meddling in our affairs.”
There, Ghan thought. There is a tender spot. What experiences had shaped this boy? He was beginning to see the glimmer, the veiled shape of his motives. If he could understand those, perhaps he could talk real sense to him. For the moment, however, he lowered his voice to nearly a whisper.
“But I ask again, why do you ally yourself with the Life-Eater, this ghoul?”
“Because only he has the power to see us to the mountain. The gods will resist us each inch of the way. We have already been attacked thrice, did you know that? Each time Ghe disposed of the sendings. I might have done so, but only after terrible struggle. And when we meet the Blackgod himself—”
Ghan held up his hand. “You keep saying 'Blackgod,' ” Ghan muttered. “But this word? In my language, 'god' is used only for the River. What do you call him in your tongue?”
“Many things. Mostly we call him 'Blackgod.' ”
“No,” Ghan snapped. “Say it in your language.”
“ Yaizhbeen, ” he complied, clearly puzzled.
Ghan chewed his lip. “Wait, wait,” he muttered. “Zhbeen means 'black.' ”
“So it does,” Moss replied, bemused.
“In the old language of Nhol, zhweng was the word for black.”
“I have noticed our tongues are similar,” Moss said. “Your name, for instance, and my profession, 'Ghan' and 'gaan.' ”
“It is not my name,” Ghan said. “It means 'teacher.' But there is another word in the old tongue: ghun. That means 'priest.' “ He mused, clenching his fist before his face, all other thought forgotten, save the puzzle. “Ghun Zhweng.” He whirled on Moss. “What if I were to say gaanzhbeen in your language? What would that mean?”
“It would mean 'black invoker, black shaman.' It is merely another name for the Blackgod, for he is a wizard, as well.”
“How stupid.” Ghan scowled. “How very stupid of me. When Ghe told me about the temple, I should have seen it. But what exactly does it mean?”
“What are you talking about?”
Ghan snorted. “Our priesthood was founded by a person known as Ghun Zhweng, the Ebon Priest. Do you see?”
Moss stared at him, openmouthed. “Your priesthood was founded by the Blackgod?”
“So it would seem.”
“Tell me this tale. How can this be?”
“Ghe visited the Water Temple. Beneath it he found—”
Moss wasn't listening to him anymore. His eyes had glazed. “This will have to wait,” he whispered. “It may be that you should leave.”
“Why?”
“Something comes for me.”
“Something?”
Moss looked back at him, eyes hardening. “Yes, perhaps you were right. I don't understand why, but Ghe is coming for me. He just slew my outer ring of guardians.”
¡know, Ghan thought frantically, ¡know why he is coming for you. Because Qwen Shen holds his leash, and Qwen Shen is from the priesthood, and the priesthood … was a creation of the Blackgod. And whatever else this Blackgod was, it was an enemy of the River and of all of his blood. He was Moss' enemy—he was Hezhi's enemy, though she knew it not.
“Leave,” Moss repeated.
“N-no,” Ghan stuttered. “I think I can help you.”
“Why would you help me?” Moss asked, rising, facing the tentflap. Outside a wind was rising.
Ghan started to answer him, but Moss dismissed him with a simple wave. “Go. I have no more time to speak to you.” His body had begun to blur faintly. At first Ghan thought something was wrong with his eyes; then he understood. He had seen the emperor thus resonate with power. Moss stepped outside. Ghan followed quickly, as far as the tent opening, to watch.
Something roughly Human in shape and size hovered perhaps ten feet off of the ground; wind gyred about him, sparks from a nearby cooking fire dancing madly in his cyclonic path. The figure itself was darker than the surrounding night, a nothingness.
“Why do you come to me thus?” Moss demanded somewhat mildly. “Why do you slay my guardians when you have only to ask to pass them?”
“You have tricked me,” the shadow said, and it was Ghe's voice, of that Ghan was certain.
“I have not, and I know not why you think I have, but we should talk.”
But Ghe was apparently in no mood to talk. Light gouted from the sky as if the substance of the heavens somehow had been slit open. It ruptured into a million starlike fragments that cooled from white to violet and finally to a sullen red, all in the briefest instant, and then, like a swarm of bees, the summoning fell upon Moss. Moss himself sprang back, and Ghan saw that he had produced a drum. He stnick its head and shouted, and the fiery hornets were seized by pandemonium, flying everywhere. Many struck the tent, which instantly burst into flame.