“And no one resisted him?” Hazad blurted.
Hya shrugged. “Would you have, big man?” Before he could answer, she snorted. “I suppose you would have, and died for the effort. That aside, Varis now commands obedience through terror … but also with bread.”
“Bread?” Azuri said in puzzlement.
Hya chuckled wryly. “Can you imagine a highborn lady nibbling rats cooked over a dung fire? Given the choice between rats or bread, cold or warmth, danger or protection, what do you suppose most people will choose?”
“Bread,” Azuri said, this time in understanding.
Hya bobbed her head. “For the promise of bread to fill their empty bellies, they gave up all freedoms. For a mere loaf a day, they willingly turned against those who would resist Varis’s tyranny, those whose actions and words might threaten their small comforts-even if those people were friends and family.”
“Has that truly happened?” Ellonlef asked, wrath slowly overcoming the sadness of her own losses.
“Too often to count, Sister,” Hya said grimly. “Our young king gives no quarter to troublemakers or to those he deems useless rabble. Each dawn finds the city quieter than the day before. I have it from those I trust that the complainers and the infirm, be they lowborn or high, are taken into the mountains and slaughtered, and their corpses dumped into ravines that feed the River Malistor. Some might argue that kings have always treated their rivals so, but in Varis I sense an insatiable hunger for power that can be nothing but evil.”
“He will not stop with Aradan,” Ellonlef said. “He has named himself a god, and a god rules the world, not a mere kingdom.”
Hya nodded slowly, then turned narrowed eyes on Kian. “Tell me something?”
“Ask,” Kian said.
“What secret do you hide?” She peered at him closely. “Perhaps I should say, what secrets, for you have more than one. I can fairly smell them inside you.”
Kian looked momentarily troubled, but recovered quickly. “Varis stole the powers of creation, and in so doing, he loosed the mahk’lar upon the world, creatures of spirit that take and change the flesh of men for their own ends. As well, some of those abilities came into me. He has learned this, and intends to destroy me before I can kill him. If there is a secret, it is only that I alone can stand against him,” he finished, without a hint of bravado.
Ellonlef expected some amount of distress or disbelief, but Hya merely considered Kian’s words with a studied calm. After a time, she said, “The world is changed. There can be no denying it, and only time will tell what awaits us. That the mahk’lar are loosed from the Thousand Hells … well, that is troubling. I don’t expect you know how to put those demons back in Geh’shinnom’atar, do you?”
Kian shook his head. “Varis is trouble enough, for now.”
“Can you help?” Ellonlef asked.
“Yes, but only if you can abide carrying inside yourself the cold heart of an assassin.”
“I can,” Kian said grimly.
Chapter 36
Deception was not Kian’s gift, especially against his friends. They might understand that his nature would not allow him to wantonly kill a man from the shadows, but all would try to dissuade him from an open confrontation with Varis. Hya sensed something of his intentions, but as wise as she was, she had not yet put a finger on his secret-at least, she had not voiced any conclusions. So as they talked, he played the part of the conspirator as best he could, listened to Hya’s advice, and offered his own suggestions, as they planned the various elements of Varis’s assassination. But he knew it would never come to that. He would meet Varis as a man and an Izutarian, face to face, power of the gods against powers of the gods, and by the coming dawn the outcome of that meeting would be decided.
At some point Hya suggested they eat, and surprised all with loaves of bread and a wheel of cheese. “I’d treat you to roasted rats,” she said in all seriousness, “but a debt to me was recently paid in food. The bread will mold before I can eat it all, and I’ve never cared much for cheese.”
All were in agreement that the meal was fine, and the cold water they drank was sweeter than any wine. Kian told himself it was not his last meal, but could not be certain. He felt no apprehension for himself. He knew what he faced. Yet it was hard to watch a guffawing Hazad and listen to Azuri’s predictably sarcastic wit without feeling sorrow. They had stood at his side, and he theirs, for so many years that they had become more than brothers, they had become extensions of each other’s character. If he did not return, the loss would be devastating to them, much as if one of them fell and he was left alive.
Ellonlef was another matter entirely. She remained solemn throughout the meal, but he understood that hearing of the loss of her people weighed upon her soul. Still, he marveled at her strength. He was not certain he would have been able to hide his feelings half so well.
Kian waited until all were sleeping soundly, then arose, taking his blanket with him. The room’s firemoss lamp was covered with a threadbare bit of cloth, allowing a little of the lamp’s glow to light his way. He made the mistake of looking at Ellonlef, sleeping on a pallet of ratty blankets, with more pulled up under her chin, her dark hair spilling over her brow and cheek. He wanted to brush his fingers over her skin, feel her warmth, but could not. Neither could he tell her his intentions.
He turned and froze. Hya was looking straight at him. He did not know what to do, so he whispered the simple truth. “This fight is mine alone. If I fail, do not allow Hazad and Azuri to avenge me. Tell them it was my wish that they flee from Varis. It matters not where they go, as long as it is far away.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “Should I fail, tell Ellonlef that … that it pleased my heart to know her.” The words sounded ridiculous to his ears, and in no way expressed what he truly felt, but at the moment it was the best he could do.
“May the love of Pa’amadin light your path and bless your sword, Izutarian,” Hya said. “And may the Most High bring you swiftly back to us.” With that, she closed her eyes.
Kian crept from Hya’s shop. Outside, under dark skies filling with clouds, he quickly cut a hole in the center of the blanket and dropped it over his head, then girded the improvised cloak with a length of rope tied about his waist. Warm as he was likely to get, he began walking northeast, toward Ammathor and the king’s palace. He would have preferred to ride, but did not want to risk his companions coming awake from hearing him banging about in Hya’s makeshift stable.
A cold wind harried him from the Street of Witches and into the heart of the Chalice, which had grown unusually still, though it was far from empty or quiet. The night air carried the scent of snow, an aroma he had not forgotten, even after a lifetime spent away from his northern homelands. It was a scent he had never expected to find in these arid southlands.
Once treading upon a main thoroughfare, he turned due north. There were no firemoss streetlamps in the Chalice, as there were in Ammathor, but light poured from winehouses and brothels. Drunkards staggered by in unruly packs, singing bawdy songs to disinterested trulls. Filthy urchins scurried amongst the shadows, looking for something to steal or to eat. Like all such children, they had learned to avoid cutthroats and worse. Kian made no attempt at concealment. He was just another Izutarian mercenary among the thousands who earned coin in Aradan.
After an hour, the liveliest sections of the Chalice lay behind him, and Kian made his way into the outskirts of Ammathor. For the first time in the history of the city, it looked less appealing than the Chalice. The king’s city could have been a graveyard, what with its empty streets and blocked windows, its denizens either fled, perished, or gathered around seldom-used hearths to ward off the cold. He had expected to see soldiers by now, but every narrow lane, street, and alley lay empty, save for starving dogs nosing about gruesome stacks of the dead.