Chapter 7

“The gods are gone?” Quyloc asked. It was hard to imagine. He was not a devout man by any means—in his experience the gods cared little for the affairs of their followers—but it was still hard to accept the idea that they were gone.

“Ran away. Hid. We are on our own.”

“All of them are gone?” Rome asked. “Even Bereth? And Gorim?”

“All of them,” Lowellin replied without looking at him.

“But why?” Rome asked. Something in the tone of his voice caught Quyloc’s attention. There was a note there he hadn’t heard before.

“They’re afraid,” Lowellin sneered. “They were afraid then—afraid to do what needed to be done—and they are afraid now. They know Melekath will not hesitate to do to them as they should have done to him.”

 “But without the gods’ help…” Rome seemed to be having trouble getting the words out. “What chance do we have?”

“Not much,” Lowellin said grimly.

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“I’m not interested in reassuring you. I’m here to see if you have the courage to fight back. If you do, and if you do exactly as I say, there is a chance—however faint—that we can stop Melekath. There are weapons, but they are dangerous. In the right hands they give us a chance. In the wrong hands…” He stared at Quyloc for a few seconds before continuing, challenging him. “They will turn on us.”

Quyloc felt something respond in his heart, something he longed for that he dared not dream of. “What weapons are you talking about?”

“Some will be for the Tenders.”

“The Tenders?” Quyloc responded, instantly irritated. “What good are they? Their power was broken long ago. Without Xochitl they are nothing.” The Tenders worshipped Xochitl, but she had abandoned them long ago.

“We will see about that.”

“And the other weapons?” Quyloc heard the sound of his own need in his voice and hated it, but he could not stop it.

“One other.”

“What is it? What is this weapon you speak of?” Quyloc asked before Rome could speak. He could not help but think of the black axe as he spoke. He would not miss his chance again.

“Only the right person can wield it. Only the right person even has a chance of obtaining it.”

Quyloc swallowed, his mouth oddly dry. He felt a tremor in his hands and made an effort to still them. “I want to know more.”

“Even if what you say is true,” Rome said. “We had nothing to do with the prison. How do we know Melekath won’t just go after the ones who put him there? Maybe he will leave us alone if we stay out of this.”

Lowellin’s eyes blazed as he turned on Rome. “You have no idea what you are saying. You don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

“That’s what you say. But we have only your words and nothing else.”

Lowellin’s lip curled. “Wise words, my king,” he said mockingly. “But hear me now. A human army stood with Xochitl and the other gods when they besieged Durag’otal. Melekath and his abominations have had three thousand years to contemplate the injustice done to them.

“Three. Thousand. Years.

“It is a long time to hate, don’t you think?” He waited, and finally Rome nodded.

“After all that time, do you think they will be reasonable?”

Rome looked at Quyloc, but Quyloc had nothing for him. Finally, he shook his head. “Perhaps not. But that still doesn’t mean we should trust you.”

Lowellin stiffened. “Then I have wasted my time coming here. I will look elsewhere for those who will fight.”

He started for the door, but Quyloc held up one hand. His opportunity, what he had waited so long for, was getting away. “Wait.” To Rome he said, “Don’t dismiss him so quickly. You don’t know what’s going on here.”

Rome gave him a surprised look.

“I want to know more about this weapon,” Quyloc said.

Lowellin looked from Quyloc to Rome and back. “If you doubt, even a little, you will fail. I cannot take that risk.” He made again as if to leave.

“Let us talk about this together before you decide,” Quyloc said quickly. “It’s a lot to accept all at once.”

Lowellin hesitated.

“Just one day. That’s all I’m asking.”

Lowellin considered this. “I have not yet spoken with the Tenders here.” He nodded. “Okay. You have one day. I will return and we will speak of this again.”

He brushed past them and headed for the door. Partway across the room he stopped and turned.

“It is only a matter of time before the Guardians begin building an army to help their master. We will need one as well, to fight them.” This time he was looking at Rome, who suddenly looked interested.

“Your little army won’t be enough by itself. For this war you must conquer the rest of them. Forge Atria’s rabble of worthless kingdoms into one force.”

“You’re talking about rebuilding the Kaetrian Empire,” Rome said.

“No. I’m talking about building a new empire, led by a man whose soldiers would follow him to the gates of Durag’otal itself. Is that man you, Wulf Rome?” He did not wait for an answer but moved through the door and was gone.

          

 “Did he just say empire? Do you think we could really do it?” Rome set the black axe down on the table and turned to Quyloc. He felt lit up with possibilities. Empire. He liked the sound of that. He definitely liked the sound of that.

Then he realized Quyloc hadn’t responded. He was standing there with that distant look he often got when he was lost inside his own thoughts. Rome frowned. That couldn’t be good for a man.

“Did you hear me, Quyloc? Are you listening?”

Quyloc shook himself and looked at Rome blankly.

“I said, do you think we could do it?”

“Do what?”

“Build an empire. Do you think it’s possible?” Rome felt suddenly charged. He wanted to start right now.

“That’s what you took away from what just happened?” Quyloc looked incredulous. “A man appears out of nowhere, says some ancient god is about to come crashing down on us, but that he has some dangerous weapons that might help if we just do what he says. Oh, and he claims to be thousands of years old. But all you hear is the word empire?”

“It doesn’t sound so good when you put it like that.”

“No. It doesn’t.”

“But you don’t really believe any of that stuff he said, do you?”

Shaking his head, Quyloc sheathed his dagger. “You were here, right here in this room, right? You saw him appear out of nowhere.”

“Not actually. He might have—”

“He appeared out of nowhere. But that’s only part of it. Surely you noticed that he was no ordinary man, that there’s something unusual about him. And what about that staff of his? There’s something really bizarre about that thing.” He rubbed his temple. “It was starting to give me a headache.”

“You’re overreacting. I admit that Lowellin is a little unusual, but that doesn’t mean he’s thousands of years old or that any of that stuff he said is really going to happen.”

“And what if it is? What if you do nothing and it all comes true?”

Rome sat down. It felt like all the miles he’d traveled suddenly caught up with him at once. A few hours of sleep would be good right now. “You really believe him, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Why? How do you know what he’s saying is true?”

“The same way I knew the old lady with the puppets had put poison in the wine,” Quyloc snapped. Years before, when Rome and Quyloc were still privates in the army, they went out one night when they got off duty. While walking down a small street in the meaner part of the city they came across an old woman putting on a puppet show on the street corner. The old woman was very skilled, and they stopped to watch her show. At the end she sold cups of watered wine for a copper, but just before Rome drank his Quyloc had a feeling and knocked the cup out of his hand. The man next to him wasn’t so lucky and died right there in front of them.

Rome had learned to trust Quyloc’s feelings. They weren’t always accurate, but they were often enough.

“Okay. We’ll go along with this for now. But I don’t trust him, not at all. We need to keep a close eye on him. He’s playing his own game here and using us.”

“I agree with you on that.” Quyloc turned and started for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.”

          

Quyloc stepped out onto the landing. Lowellin was nowhere to be seen. He started to walk down the stairs, then hesitated. He closed his eyes and concentrated.

After a moment he could hear something coming from up above, maybe on the roof. It wasn’t something he heard with his ears, though. It was deeper than that, more than a sound, almost a feeling.

It had to be Lowellin. He wasn’t sure how he knew it was, only that he was sure, and he’d learned to trust his instincts on this.

It was only two flights of stairs to the top. The trap door to the roof was open. He climbed the iron rungs set into the stone wall.

The view from on top of Bane’s Tower was impressive. To the west and south, beyond the palace grounds, lay the city of Qarath. Beyond the city wall lay miles of open, rolling countryside, covered with fields and a few copses of hardwoods here and there. A handful of manor houses were visible out there, summer homes for the nobility. Two of them had been burned down.

Close by to the north lay the Eagle Mountains; the palace grounds sat on the very fringes of its foothills. The Cron River tumbled down out of the mountains, passing through the city.

To the east was the sea. The tower stood on the edge of high cliffs, the waves crashing against their base.

Lowellin was standing at the parapet, looking out to sea. He did not turn or acknowledge Quyloc as he approached.

“Somewhere out there, deep beneath the surface, hides Golgath.”

The name sounded familiar to Quyloc, but it took him a moment to place it. Then it came to him. Golgath was one of the Eight, the gods who besieged Durag’otal and created the prison.

“Golgath hides because he fears Melekath, and he hopes to escape his wrath. But he is wrong.” Lowellin sounded angry. “Hiding only means that he will be vulnerable when the time of reckoning comes. He deserves whatever Melekath does to him. Those too stupid to prepare for a coming threat always deserve what they get.”

Quyloc did not miss the point of what Lowellin was saying. Hiding from the threat of Melekath would only leave them helpless when the time came. He wondered if Lowellin had approached Golgath and been turned away. Had he approached all of the Eight?

“We talked about what you said. We would like to know more.”

“So it seems you have more sense than they do.”

“Rome is still skeptical, but he will come around.”

“And what about you? Do you believe what I say?”

“Of course.” Privately, Quyloc still had his doubts. Trust came slowly for him.

“No, you don’t,” Lowellin said, surprising him. “But you want what I have to offer, and so you are willing to pretend. For now.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because I am no blind fool. I saw how you responded when I spoke of the weapon.”

Quyloc had no response for that.

“Why do you want the weapon so badly?”

Quyloc hesitated, considering what he should say. “It is merely prudence. If what you say is true, then we will need all the help we can get.”

“Save your lies for the fools who surround you.”

Quyloc glanced at him. Lowellin still wasn’t looking at him. He sensed Lowellin’s anger growing. This was not someone with much patience.

“What do you want me to say?” Quyloc asked.

“The truth. Is it power, is that what you want? Would you make yourself king in place of that oaf?”

This question required no thought. “No. Absolutely not. I have no desire to be king.” That much was completely true. The thought of being responsible for the whole kingdom horrified him. He often regretted agreeing to be Rome’s adviser and would have quit the post already were it not for the fact that it gave him the resources to continue his search.

“Then why do you want it so badly?”

They were back to the beginning. Quyloc had never told a soul of the strength of his need, how badly he needed answers. It was why he spent his time and his money on old books, on questioning anyone he found who might have clues.

“How long have you known you were different?” Lowellin asked, surprising Quyloc by suddenly turning to look at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then there is no reason to continue this conversation. I made a mistake when I approached you. I will have to find another.”

Quyloc’s stomach fell when he heard the words. He’d searched for so long and found so few real answers. This might be the only chance he ever got.

But it meant taking a risk. It meant revealing more than he ever had before. Quyloc had learned long ago that no one could really be completely trusted. Share too much with anyone and sooner or later they would turn it against you. Survival meant keeping secrets.

“Last chance.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you.” Quyloc realized sweat had broken out on his brow. He took a deep breath. “I’ve known, guessed, since I was a child.” He hesitated. This felt wrong. But he had to know. “It wasn’t a single incident. I was always better at stealing than the other orphans. I just had a sense about when the merchant’s attention was distracted, when the best moment to snatch something came. At one point I realized the other children didn’t have that sense.”

“It got stronger as you grew older.”

Lowellin was staring at him so hard it hurt. Quyloc couldn’t hold his gaze. “It did,” he admitted, looking away.

“And now you are growing desperate. You’ve searched everywhere, but no one, no person, no book, has the answers you’re looking for.” He paused. “Or they won’t share what they know. That’s why you hate the Tenders, isn’t it?”

Quyloc feared Lowellin would see the tremor in his hands. He felt the urge to flee.

“Tell me the truth,” Lowellin demanded.

“Okay. Yes, I hate them. They claim their knowledge is forbidden to men.” There was more to the story, but the shame cut too deep and he wasn’t letting Lowellin know about it.

“And always it’s been that way, hasn’t it?” Lowellin asked, his voice softening somewhat. “Those willing to share know nothing worth sharing. Those with true knowledge won’t share what they have, leaving you always on the outside.”

It was true. No matter where he looked, he found only dead ends. And meanwhile the itch inside him, that sense of unseen energies, of unseen potential surrounding him, only grew stronger. Many times he’d despaired of ever finding answers.

“I have the answers you seek,” Lowellin said. “I can tell you all that you long to know. I can pull back the shroud and show you what truly lies behind the world you see.”

Quyloc didn’t dare look at him, knowing his eyes would betray how deep his need was.

“You can still turn back.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Quyloc said.

“You have no idea what it is you are about to get into. The weapon I speak of is found in another world, a shadow world underneath and beside our own. Once you go there, once you see it, it will in return see you.”

“So? I am not afraid.”

“Then you are an idiot. Because in this shadow world there are no second chances. Every denizen of that world, the world itself, will try to trap you.”

“I’ve faced death before.”

“Oh, but it’s not that easy. The shadow world doesn’t want you dead. It wants you alive.”

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