“Why?” Kian asked, his eyes narrowed. He was not the only one looking askance at Hya. Ellonlef could not believe Hya’s words were coincidence, which proved she had been right to seek her out. Also, she wondered what Varis had done that the woman had come to her conclusions so quickly.
“Evil is evil, and cannot be overlooked,” Hya said promptly. “Those who allow wickedness to exist are no less monstrous than those whom they choose not to face, whether their turning away is from cowardice or acceptance.”
Kian stared. Hya returned the stare, unblinking. Moving slowly, Hazad peeked through a cracked board to the street beyond. Azuri shifted to one side of the doorway letting into the room, and pressed his back against the wall. Ellonlef could not help but marvel at these seemingly casual movements of preparation. Hya saw them, too.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” she said, still gazing at Kian. “But there is one who should terrify you … perhaps he is one such highborn that needs to perish?”
“Varis,” Ellonlef said, wanting to get to the heart of the matter.
Hya nodded. “Our new king has only just begun to set up his rule, though rumors have reached even here-unbelievable tales that have spread like wildfire. And yet, some are already beginning to side with him.” She smiled darkly. “If half of what has been said about King Varis is true, then he is both evil and powerful. As well, he is cunning-a combination that cannot be allowed to exist.”
Kian seemed to relax. “What has he done?”
Instead of answering right away, Hya sat down with a gusty sigh in the room’s only padded chair. She waved for the others to sit where they would, which meant one listing stool, or on the dusty floor. Ellonlef was given the stool, but Kian and his companions remained standing.
“Please,” Ellonlef invited, “tell us all you can,”
Hya leaned back in her chair, making it groan. “Big man,” she said to Hazad, “fetch me a blanket from that pile in the corner.”
Hazad was moving before he thought to balk, and then it was too late. Scowling, he brought the blanket. Hya flashed her grin again, but this time kept her hands to herself. After she had swaddled herself, she shook her head in apparent disgust. “Never has a winter come so early to Ammathor, and never one so bitter. If such weather holds, or grows worse, by springtime the flanks of the Two Brothers will be covered with graves and snow-that is if anyone is left alive to dig graves.” She let those dire words sink in, then answered the question Ellonlef had forgotten she had asked.
“My sister, you should know that you and I, and those not on the Isle of Rida, are the last of our order.”
Ellonlef stared at her, too shocked to utter a word.
“A great burning rock,” Hya went on, indifferent to the sudden tears sliding from her eyes, “as large as a mountain, some say, struck just off the coast of Aradan. No one who actually witnessed its fall are left alive. Those who saw the burning mountain from afar, out to sea and inland, went to the spot, then spread the word. They say Rida is simply no more. The sea churns over shattered rock, and the waves are the color of blood.”
“No,” Ellonlef breathed, her own eyes welling. The order had never been large, but she had trained with dozens of girls, befriended most of them. They had spoken of future husbands, or coming adventures, of all they would see and do. She had spent nearly ten years apart from those girls and grown into a woman, the same as them, and had looked forward to returning to her island home to share tales of what they had done. The magnitude of what Hya told was too massive for her to fully grasp.
“Too many people have carried the tale for it to be false,” Hya said, her now tender voice at odds with her careworn features. “Merchants and refugees all say the same. What’s more, they say that from forty leagues south of Kingsport to the Sunset Cliffs of Tureece, the lands are shattered and burned, much like a clay pot dropped into a hearth fire. Where once there were few islands and coves off the mainland, now there are hundreds, mayhap thousands, and not a one fit to tread upon. They say great founts of fire light the night, and by day molten rock spreads across those broken lands. The very air, it is said, is deadly to breathe.”
Ellonlef felt a presence behind her, then strong fingers fell gently on her shoulder. She took Kian’s calloused hand in both of her own, wishing she could drag some of his strength into her, wishing she could fall into his powerful arms and hide her face against his chest. But that could not be, not yet, if ever.
Hya noted the touch, but gave no indication of what she thought.
“Tell us of Varis,” Ellonlef said, struggling to keep her voice steady. She wanted to hear anything, even if horrible, to mask the howling emptiness in her heart.
“To understand the boy-king’s success,” Hya said after drying her eyes, “you must appreciate the circumstances he has used to ensure his victory.”
“Very well,” Ellonlef said, though she could already imagine what those circumstances might be, after seeing how the rest of the kingdom had suffered.
“Since the reign of King Edaer, Ammathor has never been able to fully sustain herself. After the faces of the Three were destroyed, it was but days before merchants and crofters ceased bringing supplies and food to the city. Even before true hunger came, lawlessness and disorder sprang up. It was and is worse in Ammathor than in the Chalice, for the people of this district have always had to survive each new day, even during the best of times. Sleeping under moldy blankets and eating rats in the Chalice, after all, has never been all that unusual. Ammathor is another matter. When the food ran out, those of noble birth became desperate, and began calling for unspeakable acts of tyranny. King Simiis, though he has been a good sovereign, bowed to that wickedness, albeit reluctantly.”
“What did the highborn do?” Kian asked.
“Wealth has always represented a bastardized power,” Hya said, “but not true power, that which is wielded by those who carve law into stone, and enforce edicts with iron and fire. The prosperous seek authority, mistakenly thinking it is a thing to be bought. The highborn make a farce of selling dribs and drabs of influence, and fill their coffers in the process. Then, in a moment and with but a word, they take back all they sold, and name the theft a levy. So they have done in Ammathor, using the opportunity of disaster to demonstrate that real power is more of birth and steel, than of gold. In less than a fortnight, the highborn set their soldiers to raiding and looting. First they went after the wealthiest merchants and guilds, then set upon everyone else. There was resistance, though it proved futile. After all, what does a merchant or a baker or a seamstress know of swords and blood?”
“And at the height of the trouble, Varis arrived,” Ellonlef said, thinking of the ploy he had used in Krevar. “Did he present himself as a redeemer?”
“A redeemer and a destroyer,” Hya said, with an expression that spoke of a curiosity to listen to the tale that had brought Ellonlef to the king’s city.
“What of King Simiis, his advisors, those soldiers who are loyal to him?” Ellonlef asked. She would tell all that had happened to bring her to Ammathor, but that was for later.
“As I hear it,” Hya said, “Varis arrived in the night, and ordered a gathering in the Golden Hall. There, he became a creature of light and power. He somehow froze the doors shut to the throne room, then declared that he was the destroyer of Geh’shinnom’atar and something he named the Well of Creation. He proclaimed himself king, and emperor of the coming dawn. As well, he named himself the god of men. Then, at a mere touch, he murdered his grandfather. King Simiis died with his blood boiling and his skin black.”