“Who led you before I returned?”
“Kuuth, master,” Strix said. “He is ancient and wise, a troll nearly forty years old.”
“Send for him,” Siris said. “And gather the other daerils. Every one of them in the castle. Bring them to the throne room.”
He didn’t trust these creatures, not for a moment. But perhaps he could use them.
Finish what you began.
Siris sat on the God King’s throne. What had his mother meant by that? Surely she hadn’t meant to imply that he should take the God King’s place. That would be suicide.
The God King’s throne wasn’t very comfortable—though Siris was wearing armor, which never made sitting particularly comfortable. He’d removed his helm and set his shield to the side, though he kept the Infinity Blade close.
Seeing his face unnerved the daerils. That seemed a good enough reason to him to keep the helmet off, for now. He inspected the Infinity Blade as he waited. The blade had some kind of magic that had let the God King summon it, making it appear as if out of nothing in a flash of light. So far, despite a week of tinkering, Siris hadn’t been able to figure out how that magic worked.
Something chirped beside him.
Siris jumped, glancing down. Only then did he remember the little mirror built into the armrest of the throne. He poked at it. The thing had done . . . something following the God King’s death. It was magical.
Poking at the thing made it speak, which chilled him. “What is your command?” it asked.
“I . . .” Siris looked up at the shuffling host of daerils—in a variety of shapes and colors—gathering at the back of the room. “I’d like to know how the God King’s sword works.”
“Answer pending. Please enter the pass phrase.”
“Pass phrase?” Siris said. “I don’t know it.”
“Would you like to retrieve it?”
“Um . . . yes?”
“Very well. Please answer this security question: In what kingdom did you first meet the Worker?”
So it was a riddle. His mother had told him stories of magic mirrors that asked riddles. “In the kingdom of night and dawn, at the break of the day,” he said. It was the answer to one of the riddles from the stories.
“Answer incorrect,” the mirror said politely. “Security question two: What was the name of your first and most trusted Aegis?”
Aegis. It was a word for a master duelist, after the classical ideal. The daerils that guarded the castle had all followed the old precepts. Horrific and terrible though they had been, they had each shown that much honor.
“Old Jake Mardin,” Siris said, saying the name of the first man who had trained him in the sword, a retired soldier.
“Answer incorrect,” the mirror said.
“Your riddles make no sense, mirror,” Siris said. “Am I supposed to answer as myself, or as the God King?”
“I’m sorry,” the mirror said. “I don’t understand that query. Security question three: How many days passed before your first reincarnation?”
“Uh . . . five?”
“Answer incorrect.”
“Damn it, mirror!” he said. “Please, just tell me how I make the sword come at my will.” He was silent for a moment. “Even better,” he whispered, “how can I find freedom? Can you answer that for me, mirror? Can you tell me how I can be free of all this and live my life?”
A rope swing from a tree, he thought. He’d write that in his book tonight, beginning a list of things he would try, once he didn’t have to worry about being hunted.
“I’m sorry,” the mirror said. “I am not authorized to speak further. The waiting period is one day before the next access attempt.”
The mirror grew black.
“Hell take me,” Siris said, leaning back in the horrid throne. Honestly, couldn’t someone who called himself the God King get a decent cushion?
“The deadminds will not speak to you, slayer of gods,” said a deep, tired-sounding voice.
Siris sat up, turning toward the back of the room. Something moved in the shadows, where a doorway led to the servants’ quarters. The shadow lumbered forward, entering the light and revealing itself as a massive troll. It leaned on a staff as thick as Siris’s leg, and wore bandages covering its eyes. White hair fell around the thing’s animal face, a face furrowed with wrinkles that were sharp and distinct—like the scars left by an axe chopping at a tree.
“Kuuth, I assume?” Siris said, standing up.
“Yes, great master,” the beast said, lumbering forward. The other daerils parted for him, and a younger troll helped the elder, looking concerned. This younger beast moved like an animal, with quick steps, testing the air with its snout, walking in a crouch. The aged one, however, had an unexpectedly civilized air.
“What’s a deadmind?” Siris asked Kuuth. Even stooped with age, the beast towered a good ten feet tall. Kuuth wore a strange robe that had the right shoulder cut out, exposing a wicked scar on his shoulder and neck.
“It is a soul without life, great master,” the troll said. “The God King instilled these souls into objects. They are knowledgeable about some things, but cannot make choices for themselves. They are like children, and must be instructed.”
“Brilliant children,” Siris said. He shivered. Had the God King used the souls of children themselves to create these things? The legends said that he feasted upon the souls of those who fell to him. Siris scooted a little farther away from the mirror. “Well, perhaps I won’t need its help. I summoned you because I hoped you’d be able to answer questions for me.”
“Unlikely, great master,” the ancient troll said, then coughed into his hand. “I know more than most here, but a cup with two drops instead of one still will not quench a thirst.”
“I’ll start easy then,” Siris said, walking down the steps to the throne. “The God King spoke of greater evils. And then, after that, I met a man in the dungeon who claimed to be my ancestor. He said that someone—or something—would come hunting me. Am I to assume that they referred to other members of the Pantheon?”
“Perhaps,” Kuuth said. “Ashimar, the Sorrowmaker. Lilendre, Mistress of the End. Terrovax, Blight’s Son. Others whose names I do not know. Each will be angered by what you have done.”
“As I feared,” Siris said, speaking loudly, so the other daerils could hear. “I will need allies, troll. Do you know where I should search for them?”
“Master,” Kuuth said, sounding confused. “These are not questions I can answer for you.”
“Surely the Deathless have enemies,” Siris said.
“Well . . . I suppose . . . there is the Worker of Secrets.”
That was a myth even Siris had heard of. He doubted the Worker was real, but hunting him was a perfect way to start laying down a false trail. “Where can I find this Worker?”
“He is imprisoned,” Kuuth said. “But, master, I do not know where. It is said that nobody knows.”
“Surely there are rumors.”
“I’m sorry, master,” Kuuth said. “I know of none.”
“Fine, then. I wish to attack one of the other Deathless. One who is very powerful, and also very cruel. Whom would you suggest?”
“Master? This is an odd request.”
“It is the one I make nonetheless.”
Kuuth frowned. “A Deathless who is close but powerful . . . Perhaps the Killer of Dreams? You travel to the north, across the ocean, to find him. He is not part of the Pantheon, and has of late been very antagonistic to our former master.”
Siris frowned, sitting down. There were Deathless who weren’t in the Pantheon?
Well, perhaps that’s what I killed, in the dungeon, he thought. But then, there had also been Siris’s ancestor. He wasn’t certain what he believed of what that man had said. When Siris had taken off the man’s helm, he had found a youthful face beneath it. Perhaps serving the Deathless granted men immortality? Was that why one who had come to kill the God King would instead choose t
o serve him?
Siris knew so little. “Do you know how the God King made the magic of his sword and shield work, Kuuth?” He asked it in a softer voice, no longer for the show of the watching daerils.
“I may be able to guess, great master,” Kuuth said. “I believe it had something to do with his ring.”
Siris fished in his pocket, taking out a silvery ring. He’d pried it from the finger of the God King. “This? It’s a healing ring. I have others, taken from the bodies of Aegis I slew.” He slipped it on; he could feel its healing magic tingling on his finger.
“That one is more useful than the others you found,” Kuuth said. “It somehow let him summon his sword to him.”
“How?” Siris asked.
“I do not know. Before I lost my eyes, I saw the God King use it to sling fire as well.”
Siris frowned, then extended his hand to the side and attempted to summon fire. It didn’t work. Once he’d defeated the God King, all of his rings save the healing rings had stopped functioning. “It can’t do that anymore. Why?”
“I do not know.”
“All right, then. What were those creatures in the dungeon? They seemed . . . different from other Aegis I fought.”
“I never saw them, master.”
“Why did the sword flash when I slew them, and why did the God King have them imprisoned?” He still worried that he’d killed what could have become his allies. Yet, each one had fallen into the Aegis stance and then attacked him.
“I do not know that either,” Kuuth said.
A sudden flare of annoyance rose in Siris. “Bah. Do you know anything, fool creature?”
Siris froze. Where had that outburst come from? It had been many years since he’d lost his temper; his mother had trained him to deal with that as a child. He immediately took a grip on his frustration and shoved it down.