“I worry for them,” he said. “What will the God King do to them?”
“Probably nothing,” she said. “He’ll need them, and the others that come, to spread whatever propaganda he decides fits his return. He might even toss out a corpse and pretend you never defeated him, that he killed the Sacrifice.”
And the tradition will continue, Siris thought, disturbed. Only I will know the truth.
Another reason for the God King to hunt him. “You didn’t join the conversation.”
“My accent may have been memorable,” she said. “Besides, I have a way of being off-putting to those I just meet.”
“It might be the crossbow bolts you shoot at people before introducing yourself,” Siris said. “You might want to, you know, look into not doing that.”
“An astounding revelation.”
“Well, I’ve been told that my people skills are admirable.”
“Actually,” she said, “they seem to be.”
He glanced at her. She sounded sincere.
“They trusted you right off,” she mused. “People don’t do that to me. They assume I’m lying to them, cheating them, or smuggling something.”
“And are you?”
“Always,” she said absently. “Hell, I’ve got six pieces of contraband farshot magics in my saddlebags right now.”
“Wait, really?”
“Can’t make the toorim things work,” she said. He didn’t know that word she used. Was it some kind of curse? “You need a magic tube to activate them. Anyway, that’s beside the point. People don’t trust me.”
“You could try being honest.”
“It doesn’t work,” she said. “The more honest I am, the less they believe me. Like our discussion about those rings. I really don’t know anything about them, by the way.”
Siris hesitated.
“You’re skeptical,” she said.
“I . . .”
“It’s all right. I’m more than used to it. But you . . . you’re genuine.” That, oddly, seemed to trouble her. “What is this Sacrifice thing they spoke of?”
“You don’t know?” he asked, shocked as he turned to her.
“No.”
“Everyone knows.”
“Humor me.”
“One man each generation is chosen to fight the God King,” he said, starting to trek down the road again.
“Chosen? How?”
“It’s the nearest relative of my family line,” Siris replied. “Usually, the Sacrifice marries and has a child before he leaves.”
“You’re married then?”
“No,” he said.
“But—”
“Things were different for me.”
He hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it. The girl the town elders had chosen for him had been nice enough, but Siris hadn’t been able to force himself to marry her, only to leave her a widow one year later, so he’d backed out of the marriage. His mother had instead sent word to her husband’s family, so the new Sacrifice could be chosen from the children there. Poor kid.
They continued on their way. About a half hour later, Isa suddenly started laughing—a quick, exuberant bark. He glanced at her, and found her reading in her dictionary.
“Ah yes,” she said to herself, still chuckling, “I see. Peens. No. Pens. Yes, I must learn to pronounce that one right.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “Damn, I wish I’d done that one on purpose . . .”
Siris let Isa pick the camping spot for the evening. He wanted to be off the roadway, but otherwise didn’t know much about picking a campsite. Isa seemed to find that amusing—she had an expectation that people from ‘rural villages’ should be capable trackers and wilderness experts.
Siris shook his head. He’d never even worked the stalactites, let alone left the village to wander the wilderness. His every moment had been needed to train. Leaving Isa for a moment, he went off to test the transportation ring with the sword. It still worked, even though they were away from the castle. He was relieved to find that; since the elemental rings had stopped working, he’d worried that eventually this one would as well.
That confirmed, he went and helped unload the horse, passing Isa with the saddlebags. He began to undo the saddle, and then noticed the crossbow sitting in its strap. A deadly weapon; he’d heard of its type, but hadn’t ever seen one. It was easy enough to figure it out from a short inspection.
Isa walked back a short time later. Their camp was at the base of a small hill. Not on top of it, as Siris would have probably chosen. That might have to do with the small spring Isa had found at the bottom, or with not making them visible from a distance.
“We haven’t talked about price yet,” Siris said, pulling off the last saddlebag.
Isa eyed it, though obviously tried to remain nonchalant. As if he would make off with her goods. That woman is about as trusting as . . . well, as I am, lately.
“Price?” she asked.
“You’re not going to guide me for free.”
“So far, there hasn’t been much guiding. You don’t know where you want to go.”
“Regardless. You don’t seem the type to provide a service—even a meaningless one—for free.”
She looked at him solemnly, and there were no signs of mirth in her voice. “You die. I get the sword.”
“That—”
“Not if I kill you,” she said. “I mean, my price is this: I’ll be your guide. If you die along the way, the sword is mine. I think you’ll find it a fair price. It doesn’t actually cost you anything.”
“Except my life.”
“I only take the sword if you die because of some something outside our control,” she said, shrugging. “Losing your life is not a cost.”
He rubbed his chin as she went to the horse, slinging her crossbow over her shoulder, then pulling off the saddle. She began scraping at the horse’s coat with a small, handheld tool, which Siris found baffling.
He rounded the hill and settled down in the hollow to care for his armor—the leather needed oiling—and later Isa joined him. The two worked in silence, and eventually Siris moved to take up his logbook and begin writing items down. He’d spent a large part of the walk deciding on things he wanted to try.
See the ocean. Play an instrument. Learn to make my way in the woods. Eat cinnamon bread. Play cards.
She’d probably have laughed at him if he’d mentioned he didn’t know how to play cards. Everyone—even the simplest of men in the town—had played. Not Siris.
Isa started a small fire and boiled some water.
“Any chance of some of that bread you talked about?” Siris asked.
“Do you have sugar, butter, and cinnamon handy?”
“I have some jerky and some oatmeal.” He held up a small jar. “And some armor polish.”
“I suppose I could try to make something out of those three ingredients . . .”
“Uh, no. Thanks.”
Isa smiled, and they dined on travel rations. The things tasted like sawdust. Before long, Siris was pulling his blanket over himself—head resting on his armor pack—and closing his eyes.
He was exhausted. After fighting those golems, making the discovery that the God King lived, then walking for hours . . . he was worn out, wrung dry.
Yet sleep was elusive. The three peasants weren’t the only ones they’d met on the roadway—they’d passed two other groups, and both had spoken of the Sacrifice. Siris had felt . . . dishonest speaking to them. How would they react if they knew that he’d lived, yet had also failed to kill the God King?
I could find a way to make the sword work, a piece of his mind whispered. Then go back. Face him in truth. End him.
The next thought was immediate. Why? Why Siris? He’d done his part, hadn’t he? Didn’t he deserve freedom? Didn’t he deserve, for once, to play cards? To go swimming? To see the ocean?
Finish what you began. . . .
Time passed as he lay in thought. He didn’t toss or turn; that wasn’t hi
s way. He lay, eyes closed, breathing regularly. As if to coax himself to sleep. Also, there was another reason to be still. One he dearly hoped was unjustified.
After about an hour, he heard a soft boot scrape rock.
He snapped his eyes open. Isa crouched beside him, crossbow pointed at his neck. Bathed in moonlight, her expression was grim, her eyes hard.
He exhaled slowly, regretfully.
They exchanged no words; both knew what this was. She reached down for the sword at his side.
He tapped his fingers together, then sat up, grabbing his sword in one hand. She pulled the trigger on her crossbow.
At least, she tried to. Nothing happened. She moved her finger frantically and backed up, eyes going wide. Siris held something up in the moonlight: the trigger mechanism. He pried the transportation disc off it—he’d attached the disc earlier, when inspecting the crossbow—and tossed the trigger into the night. He’d been expecting it to bring the whole crossbow, but this would work as well.